


Strep Me Down, Baby

by julienwrites



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Alexis Rose - Freeform, Mentions of Stevie Budd - Freeform, Post Season 06, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julienwrites/pseuds/julienwrites
Summary: “Yours is on the left Patrick. I hope you like it!”Patrick’s sure he will. He doesn’t say it outloud, just nods with a smile as they start to walk out. His throat’s been a little sore since waking up, and he’s hoping he can curb it off with tea, and maybe some extra vitamin c during lunch. He doesn’t often get sick, hasn’t been for years, since before coming to Schitt’s Creek in fact, and he’s not going to break that streak now.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 9
Kudos: 168





	Strep Me Down, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-divergent AU, where everything is pretty much the same, but instead of buying more motels, Johnny, Stevie and Rolland decided to do even more remodels to the original motel first, which means they don't leave for California. Alexis stays to grow her brand and help David and Patrick with their store. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this fic, as it's my first SC fic. I plan on writing and posting more if everyone likes it, so be sure to leave me kudos or comments!

As Patrick and David step into the cafe, they’re hit with the profound scent of autumn. It smells like pumpkin pie and cider, and David scrunches his nose up a little. 

“It kind of smells like a car air freshener.” 

“Come on David, it smells _good_. It’s comforting,” Patrick gives him a small smile and squeezes his hand. “Who knows, maybe different pies are on the menu now,” he adds, pulling him up to the counter. 

“The usual?” Twyla asks as they walk up to the counter, her usual smile on her face. David’s about to nod when Patrick purses his lips. 

“Actually, can I get a black tea, please?” 

“Tea? I didn’t know I was dating an eighty year old man.” David’s face is doing that half judgmental and half curious thing, the one that makes his husband _so_ utterly fond. 

Eyes rolling a little, Patrick gives a shrug, as Twyla goes to get their order. Since Twyla bought the cafe, it’s gone through some changes (thanks to David’s help per Twyla’s request), but it’s still cozy. 

“Thought I’d branch out,” he explains, shoving his hands into his pockets as they wait. Twyla comes back a moment later with the bag of pastries and the two to go cups. 

“Yours is on the left Patrick. I hope you like it!” 

Patrick’s sure he will. He doesn’t say it outloud, just nods with a smile as they start to walk out. His throat’s been a little sore since waking up, and he’s hoping he can curb it off with tea, and maybe some extra vitamin c during lunch. He doesn’t often get sick, hasn’t been for years, since before coming to Schitt’s Creek in fact, and he’s not going to break that streak now. 

When they exit, cold air hits them, and the gloomy, fifty degrees weather makes Patrick thankful he’s worn one of his favorite dark blue sweaters today. As he sets his things down, he finally takes a sip of the tea, and while it’s not the best, the warm liquid on his throat instantly perks him up. 

He gets through the day easily, the tea helping him forget about his throat, as he helps customers, flirts with David and helps move inventory around (where his husband directs of course). It’s not until they’re leaving that night, locking up, that the sore throat reappears and a headache starts forming behind his eyes. 

“Wanna go get some dinner? I’m starving,” David laces their fingers together as they walk. Patrick nods, though he’s suddenly not hungry at all. Sitting in a booth, David looks over the menu and Patrick stops Twyla to ask what the soup is, hoping it’ll make his throat stop hurting. He ends up ordering the vegetable soup, earning another curious look from the man across from him, who orders himself a large burger and fries. 

“Interesting food choices today,” David hums, eyebrow raising. 

“It’s cold outside! Sorry I’m a human,” Patrick gives him a sly smile, hooking his ankle around David’s. It seems to appease him enough to start talking about the new blanket he’s found online that would be perfect for their bedroom. 

\+ + +

Patrick’s pretty sure whatever he’s been trying to fight off has won. Sitting in the back of the store, doing paper work for the new month, he’s starting to feel like _garbage_. He can remember being in 4th grade and coming down with some virus, the one that his mom had had to come pick him up from school with. His throat had hurt so badly, and his mom had told him it was his lymph nodes that had been swollen. Now, as he presses his hands to the upper sides of his neck, he audibly groans from the intense pain. 

His whole body aches, along with his upper neck and throat, and he feels so generally unwell, feels such a gross heaviness throughout his whole body that he considers telling David he’s going home. Checking his watch, he notices there’s only one more hour, and surely he can tough it out. It’s a silly cold.

Not entirely sure how he gets through finishing the new papers, Patrick’s only aware they’ve closed once David walks into the back. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet the past few hours. Get everything done?” David starts getting his bag together, checking to make sure he’s not forgetting anything. 

“Yeah, done,” Patrick speaks, clenching his jaw from the pain. A shiver crawls down his spine as he stands, head throbbing a moment at the change. 

“Are….you okay? You sound…” 

And then David turns around. Patrick’s normally pale complexion is 2 or 3 shades paler, but his cheeks are pink. Eyes glassy, Patrick looks up, grabbing his own bag, and gives a very half-hearted shrug. “I’m okay.” Red flags start blaring in David’s mind. 

“Okay...we need to get you home. We also need to stop by the cafe real quick, because I won’t be any help if I haven’t had food, but we’ll get it to go okay honey?” David asks, wrapping an arm around Patrick, pulling him close. The germaphobic part of his brain shuts down. This is Patrick. The love of his life. There’s no way he’s not going to help him and make him feel better. 

“Okay…..I’m uh... not feeling the best tonight, if I’m honest,” he admits, voice slightly distorted by how swollen his throat is. He blinks slowly, allowing himself to be led out of the store and across the way to the cafe. It’s early enough there’s not many people around, so David takes them both to the counter. 

“What can I get y-oh _wow_ . Patrick. You look _awful_ ,” Twyla’s eyes are wide and worried. 

“Yeah he’s not feeling well. We just need two grilled cheese and some soup to go….and maybe a couple cookies,” David speaks, running a hand down Patrick’s back. As they wait, Twyla brings over a to go cup. 

“Tea on the house,” she looks at Patrick sympathetically. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, taking a tiny sip before holding it in his hands. He sees David watching him closely, so he gives him the biggest smile he can muster. 

“It’s a cold, I’ll be okay,” Patrick speaks as quietly as he can, shivering again, which makes David frown and step closer. It makes Patrick feel a fondness in his chest, the way David’s acting. He’s amazed by him every day. 

It takes them another fifteen minutes to get back to their house, and in the eight minutes of driving, Patrick’s barely awake in the passenger seat, head lolling to the side, half on the seatbelt. David thinks about calling his Dad or even Stevie. He may not mind taking care of Patrick, but that doesn’t mean he knows _how._ Sure, he knows the basics, but he’s not sure how high too high is for a fever, or where the line is drawn for if he should take his husband to the doctor. 

Pulling into the driveway, David shuts off the car and walks to the passenger side, opening the door. 

“Patrick, we’re home honey, can you get up?” While he loves Patrick, there’s no way in hell he’s going to carry him. 

The man stirs a little, blinking a few times. “Hmm?” 

“We’re home, and as much as I would _love_ to, I can’t carry you.” 

Patrick clicks his seatbelt off and David wraps an arm around him while they walk in. David sometimes wishes they had a cat, maybe a tabby, to come home to, but Patrick’s allergic, and hairless cats just aren’t on brand with David and his aesthetic. He manhandles Patrick into their bedroom, helping him get out of his clothing. 

“You know, I had been planning on taking your clothes off for you tonight, but not in this context,” he teases, smiling when he gets a small huff of a laugh out of his husband. 

“Okay, you get in bed, I’m going to go reheat the soup and bring them up. I’ll be right back.” 

With a kiss to the forehead, he’s gone, and Patrick crawls into bed, letting out a muffled groan. It’s amazing how shitty he feels when work isn’t taking up his time. Shivering, he burrows under the covers and closes his eyes, drifting in and out of consciousness as he waits. 

\+ + +

After having dinner and listening to whatever show David was watching, Patrick had fallen back asleep for the night, with David worrying over him even if he couldn’t help while he was asleep. He knew rest was probably the best for him, so he let him be. By the next morning however, it’s clear to both of them that whatever Patrick’s come down with, it’s more than ‘ _just a cold, David_ ’. 

David’s rummaging around their bathroom, trying to remember where they put the thermometer. It’s so rarely used that David wouldn’t be surprised if it’s somehow been thrown out, but then he finds it, in all it’s plastic, sterile glory, in the back of their bedside table. He rinses it with soap and hot water, then goes down to their couch, where Patrick is lying, half watching Back to the Future, half dozing. 

“Hey honey, open up.” 

Patrick scrunches his nose in confusion. 

“David, I love you, but I’m not up for-” 

“I have a _thermometer_ , you monster. As if I’d have sex with you while you’re carrying bacteria,” David scoffs, hands flailing. 

“Oh...sorry.” 

He opens his mouth and David slips the thermometer under his tongue. Patrick’s throat is the worst it’s been swollen and miserable, and he seems to have lost any energy he’s been able to scrounge up the past few days. David had tried to get him to eat something earlier, but he’d had three bites of toast before gagging, and David’s silently traumatized by that. Vomit is much worse than just a virus. 

Finally, the white instrument beeps, and the little screen is red, reading ‘101.6’. Definitely more than a cold. Wincing, David presses a kiss to his forehead and then sits down on the couch next to him, already searching for the nearest urgent care. After a few taps and questions, he’s got an appointment slot saved for 2:15, and he’s feeling a little better at his caretaking skills. 

“We’re going to the doctor in a little bit babe,” David says, squeezing his ankle. Patrick looks over and squints a little. 

“I’m okay but thanks, you can go.” 

David’s eyebrows raise and he lets out a huff. 

“Yeah, no, see, that’s not how this goes. You’re the sick one. I’m already putting _my_ health at risk just by accompanying you. You’re going.” 

\+ + +

He sits Patrick down in an uncomfortable looking green cloth and plastic chair, as he goes to the desk to check in. His skin is crawling, thinking about how many germs must be everywhere. David waits for a nurse to walk up, then gives a smile. 

“Hi, _uhm_ , Patrick Brewer-Rose has an appointment at 2:15,” he says, trying to remember to be nice and not demand a doctor see his husband. Now. 

“Mhm. We have some paperwork for him to fill out, then we’ll get you back as soon as we can.” 

David looks around the empty room, hoping it’ll be within ten minutes. He already feels like a petri dish. He takes the clipboard and pen from the nurse, takes too long pumps of the hand sanitizer sitting on the counter, then walks back over to his pitiful husband. Sitting down, he wraps one arm around Patrick, who’s too pale and miserable for David not to. 

“I know you don’t want to talk, so I’m going to fill out as much as I can for you on this,” he explains softly, which earns a nod from Patrick, never once opening his eyes. David goes down the list, writing Patricks name, date of birth, and their address. He pauses at the next question. 

“Who’s your emergency contact? Your mom?” 

Patrick squints up at him and then shakes his head. “No, you.”

Something in David’s stomach flutters and he grins downward, kissing Patrick’s hair, then his sweatshirt-clad shoulder, before writing his own information. After two more pages, family history, and making Patrick sign the bottom, David walks back up to the nurse and hands her back the clipboard and pen. 

“We’ll call him back shortly.” 

David sits back down, lets Patrick rest his head on his shoulder, and then they wait. It takes twenty minutes- Twenty minutes Patrick?! Who else is here- for them to be called back. Patrick looks at David as he stands. 

“Can you come back with me?” 

David’s heart melts and he bites his lip, nodding. He’d do anything for him. 

“Is it possible to skip the height and weight and just sit him down?” Patrick asks as they walk through the door to the rooms. The nurse raises an eyebrow, but then looks at Patrick and nods, giving the shorter man a sympathetic look. She ushers them into a room close by and shuts the door. 

“You can sit in the chair over there, you can sit on the exam table,” she directs both the boys. After getting Patrick’s blood pressure, she cleans the thermometer attached to the instrument stand. 

“Have you been running a fever at all, Mr.Brewer?” 

“It’s Brewer-Rose actually, and yes, he had a temperature of 101.6 about two hours ago,” David says, trying his hardest not to be snippy, though he’s sure some of it leaked out. 

The nurse looks at David, then to Patrick, before nodding, writing it in the chart on the table before popping the thermometer into Patrick’s mouth. He sits there, waiting for it to beep, looking particularly small on the table. The nurse just clicks her tongue and writes something else in the chart. 

“Is it worse?” David’s tone is demanding, but he clears his throat, and then folds his hands in his lap. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“It is, but not by much, not dangerously. So, can you tell me what’s been going on?” 

“Uhm…” Patrick clears his throat, making a face of pain after he does so. “I had a little bit of a sore throat two days ago, but it wasn’t bad. Yesterday is when I started feeling bad, and it’s only gotten worse. Uh...really bad sore throat, headache, feeling generally awful..” he tries to think of everything. He wishes he could just groan and she’d be able to understand. 

He’s surprised David’s stayed quiet and not try to add anything, but David looks anxious to do so when he looks at him. 

“He also almost threw up. He’s not hungry, really lethargic, which is _really_ not like him. And obviously the fever,” David blurts out, giving Patrick a little embarrassed look after. 

“Alright, well Mr.Brewer-Rose, I’m going to get this to Dr.Caudill, then he’ll be right in,” she gives him a smile before walking out and shutting the door again. 

“How ya doing?” David asks, walking over closer to Patrick, who shrugs. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he looks so much like the epitome of sick, David just wants to scoop him up and hide him away till he’s better. 

“Been worse...I think.” 

David stands next to him, letting him rest his warm face against his arm, until there's a knock at the door. David sits back down, and Patrick straightens just a little. 

Dr.Caudill is a man in his forties, bald headed with glasses. He looks like the sort of man who would work in accounting, but then he talks, and David suddenly likes him much more. His enthusiasm and charisma is striking. 

“Hey, Patrick right?” He steps over to the man in the large black chair. 

“Yes, nice to meet you,” Patrick rasps, and the doctor shakes his head. 

“Honestly, it’s probably not. You’re sick. You’d rather be anywhere but here, so let’s try to make this quick for you, because I’m going to be honest, but you look like you’re ready to lay down.” 

David can’t help but snort, and Dr.Caudill looks over at him. “You must be his partner.” 

“Yep, ready to nurse him back to health,” he smiles, crinkling his nose. 

“I’m sure he’s being well taken care of. Alright, Patrick, you said you’re throat’s been hurting?” 

The doctor grabs the little stand and wheels it over, taking out the otoscope. 

“Yeah, probably the worst I can remember,” Patrick admits, which makes David look at him and frown. 

“Mmm, not fun. Open for me?” 

Patrick does, and in five seconds, Dr.Caudill puts the light back up. 

“I’m going to get the nurse to get you a strep test. I’m certain that’s what’s going on.” 

David almost asks how contagious that is, but thinks better of it. If he gets sick, they’ll know what it is earlier and come back. This trip is about Patrick, not him. 

Two minutes later, Dr.Caudill is gone, and the nice nurse is back. She looks at Patrick and gives him a sad smile. 

“I’m going to be honest. Swabbing the back of your throat is going to hurt. But I’ll have water right here to give you once it’s done, and if you think you’ll need it, I have a little plastic bowl right here if you need it.” 

It makes David give a look of disgust, but then it softens into worry when Patrick reaches out and takes it, hand shaky. He looks at David, puppy dog eyes coming out. 

“Can I...stand by him?” He asks the woman, who nods. Patrick’s usually not needy, can suffer through quietly and alone with things David’s not even aware of, but sick Patrick is obviously a little needy and nervous. David’s glad to be able to help in some way, so he gets up and grabs the others hand, squeezing it in support when the nurse tips Patrick’s head back and then gets him to open his mouth. 

It looks _awful_ , the long white stick swabbing at the very back of his throat. Patrick’s been instructed to take panting breaths, and he tries, but he starts coughing as she swabs, eyes shut tight. He’s able to last long enough for the nurse to finish, and then she’s giving him the little bottle of water. David uncaps it and Patrick takes it, sipping on it. Every swallow feels like it’s tearing his throat apart. 

“ _Fuck_.” 

David rubs his back while the nurse puts the culture in a baggie. 

“It takes ten minutes, then Dr.Caudill will be back in. Feel better.” 

They’re alone again, and twelve minutes later, Dr.Caudill walks in and hands Patrick a slip of paper. 

“Test lit up like a Christmas tree. Honestly it’s one of the worse cases I’ve seen in a while. That’s a prescription for penicillin, you take it twice daily for a week.” 

Patrick straightens up, shaking his head. 

“I can’t take that, I’m allergic.” 

“Uh, _I_ didn’t know that!” David says dramatically, hands gesturing as the doctor takes out his scrip pad. 

“Can’t have that, here, I’ll write you one for a z-pack. It tells you how to do it, but basically you just follow it, so you take a lower dose of the antibiotic every day.” He tears the new paper off and swaps it. 

“I hope you feel better Patrick.” 

\+ + +

Patrick faceplants onto the couch when they get home, making David squawk at him. 

“I know you’re sick, but go change your clothes! I am not contaminating the home!” 

It takes David another minute of convincing (and gentle tugging) before he gets Patrick upstairs. They both change and then David gets him into bed, kissing his forehead. 

“I’m going to get Stevie or Alexis to fill your prescription and get you some tylenol too. Anything else you want?” 

After a moment, Patrick says ‘chocolate ice cream?’ in the softest, sleepiest voice David’s ever heard, which makes him grin. 

“I _think_ we can do that.” 


End file.
